Butterfly
by pippychick
Summary: Another mysterious death. Another case for Fringe. But that's not why you're reading...
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Butterfly

**Author:** Pippychick

**Fandom:** Fringe

**Pairing:** Walter/Astrid

**Rating:** M

**Spoilers:** Anything up to mid series three.

**Warnings:** Mature themes, possible very light bdsm later chapters. If the rating falls beyond an M the story will move. Be warned.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the Fringeverse, it belongs to it's writers. Please don't sue me, I have nothing, and I do this out of love for your creations.

**Summary:** Another mysterious death. Another case for Fringe. There's something weird happening in the lab, but only two people really notice.

**Author's Notes:**

Yes, it's me. I haven't written anything for ages, but Fringe got to me. I searched for something to read, and didn't find what I wanted. So I began to write it. Comments/concrit welcomed and appreciated.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

"So, why us? Why is this a Fringe Division case?"

As Olivia and Broyles cut a purposeful swathe through the general hubbub of police cars and police personnel doing whatever it was they did, one thing was immediately clear: it was their case. Everyone around them had that look. Whatever they had seen, they were going to work hard over the next couple of months forgetting all about it while they worried about their sanity.

Saying nothing, Broyles led the way into the house, a sizeable mansion on the outskirts. In the kitchen they found the body, very dead with no obvious cause. Could have been a heart attack – should have been – but for the fact that the dead man's arm was on the floor, detached. Not cut off, not bleeding, just detached. There was a covering of skin over the stump of the limb and the body. Olivia let the covering sheet fall just as Walter drifted in and caught it excitedly, peering at the corpse with an jolly eagerness that was beginning to seem more and more normal.

"Who called it in?" Olivia asked. Broyles looked back at her steadily.

"His wife. This is his house. He must have come down during the night for a drink of water," Broyles said, and they both eyed the smashed glass and slowly dripping water from the table. "She found him this morning. His name is James Staples, age fifty-six, works as a train operator."

All perfectly mundane. Except… "And did she say –"

"Last night he didn't need to carry his left arm around," Broyles confirmed without a trace of humour, cutting in. Olivia nodded.

"How interesting! I'll have to get the body back to my lab," Walter said happily, breezing away to oversee the police orderlies, and it was all decided. It was a Fringe Division case.

* * *

><p>"Always so giddy," Astrid remarked casually as Walter capered around the lab gathering tools. "Who knew dissecting could be so much fun?" She smiled slightly, following, helpful, showing him when he forgot where things were, when he forgot where he was, when he forgot what he wanted.<p>

For a moment Walter looked affronted, like a child whose toy had just been snatched away. "But we did check externally for all normal causes of death," he reminded her as if pleading to be right, subtle as a giant duvet but just as gentle. As one they walked over to stand next to the corpse. They looked down at it, then at each other. The look loitered like a teenager, as if things weren't about to get messy enough.

"Better get on with it then," Astrid said, breaking the eye contact as she handed Walter the first of many surgical tools. Their fingers brushed, and it was absolutely impossible for electricity to arch through the layers of rubber surgical gloves they were wearing. They avoided eye contact for the rest of the autopsy, and since that took a good deal of time, and gave a great many revelations, when it was over neither of them even remembered.

"Ah! Olivia!" Walter exclaimed as she entered the lab with Peter in tow. "I know how our man died," he announced. Olivia gave the trademark appearance of impressed surprise and nodded.

"We need to find out how a train driver owns a house in that neighbourhood," Olivia said in an aside to Peter. He tilted his head slightly.

"Yeah," he said. "Not to mention why he went downstairs for water when they had an en-suite."

"What happened to him?" she asked Walter, a hint of curiosity in her tone as her gaze went to the covered body.

"He was stabbed," Walter said carefully, and picked up the nearest clipboard that had the day's earlier breakfast order on it. "Erm…" he said, and then took the proffered clipboard from Astrid that had the right information on. "Yes, here we are. Thank you, Ashford, my dear. Stabbed: at least sixty times, possibly up to eighty times. There is so much internal tissue damage it is almost impossible to be accurate."

"But there's no external marking. What about the arm?"

"Ah. Therein lies the mystery. As for the arm, well, there were so many slashes down into the flesh," Walter said, accompanying his words with a helpful illustration of the stabbing motion, "So many that it was, to all intents and purposes, hacked off."

Olivia frowned.

"It was most probably an accident," Walter added helpfully, in case it would make her feel better.

* * *

><p>The warmth of her breath was sweet and intoxicating, mixed with the faintest hint of her raspberry lipstick. Just a few millimetres away. "Astray," Walter whispered, his voice quiet as if the moment might shatter.<p>

"Astrid," she reminded in the same hushed tone. Walter closed his eyes. He could feel her lips moving against his, so nearly touching it almost hurt. They were as one. As always. There was a long dormant part of him, roaring to be set free. She couldn't possibly understand the violence of the blood. His fingers tightened where they rested on her arms.

"Well, one of us is astray," Walter remarked quietly, trying to think about why this was a bad thing. She was so young, so in awe of him, and he'd committed this sin before once, when he had been determined not to know better. Now he did. _I could always claim insanity_, he thought, his mind brought into shocking coherence by the heat between them. And then she would be the temptress, the one who was wrong. Impossible. Astrid was far too beautiful to be wrong–

"Earth to Walter!" Astrid said in front of his face, waving her fingers through the line of his vision. The daydream splintered, shards of it lodging in his heart and soul as he looked into her compassionate eyes. She was too young, and he was too lost. He struggled to move to the next moment like an exhausted swimmer on the verge of giving in to the tide. But there was no possibility of surrender here.

To be so sure of what he was doing, or at least sure of what he should be doing, only to lose the comfort of certainty and find himself confused and bewildered again in front of the people who knew him best.

"You were telling us about your theory," Olivia prompted, her words falling like pebbles into a pool whose surface was already cloudy and dark: Walter shook his head impatiently as if he was warding them off. There was something he was supposed to be thinking but the shape and contour of it was gone.

Theory. Yes. "I, urm," he faltered, and looked at Olivia, then at Peter. No help there really. He looked around him. "Agent Farmstead," he said, purely guessing, hoping he had got it right, wishing his brain would work. All of his cognitive abilities had drained away again, leaving his superior intellect trapped in a prison of its own making, and there was no way to articulate the horror of it. But she… what was the word? She rescued…

"We'll get back to you," she said to the others, her voice firm, helping him towards a chair as he gibbered because he'd realised the daydream had left him with another problem.

"Oh! Um…" he managed, willing it to die down, and he felt rather than saw that weary disappointment on Peter's face. "I'm so sorry, my dear," he said quietly.

"It's all right, Walter," Astrid said kindly without a trace of embarrassment, and she knew, and it didn't matter because she was so easy on him. So soothing, and he managed to forget all the things he didn't know, because he knew her.

**To be continued…**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **Well, yes... it's been years, but recently the Fringe boxset decreased in price enough for me to get it, and so I've been watching. Now I'm writing, and with any luck will see this story through to the end. Thank you to all the people who reviewed in the meantime, and ensured that when I did come to write again, this was on the list to be continued. You're all amazing.

Enjoy.

Chapter Two

Someone in the lab was acting strangely, and for once it wasn't himself. It was getting late in the day now, probably still a little too early for any real work, but it took time for most things to filter through the sieve in his mind and come to his attention. And, now he came to think about it, Walter couldn't be sure that Astrid had been herself a while. After ignoring her for hours, quite suddenly he watched her carefully as she breezed past him with a tray full of sparking lab equipment. She made more noise than usual as she put it on the shelves. Walter frowned, stared, then jumped when a beaker smashed on the floor. He jumped again when his usually calm and reliable lab assistant swore under her breath.

Yes, there was something bothering her, and with the realisation came another dilemma: should he ask her what was wrong? He looked down at the strawberry laces in his hand as if they might know. How should he ask? Would his enquiry be welcome, or not? He resumed watching her, slightly worried, his frown growing deeper by the second.

"Is there something wrong, Walter?" she asked, her voice rather more insistent than usual. To have the question he'd been struggling with thrown at him instead short-circuited something in his brain, and he lost his place for a moment.

"Um, no. No, I don't think so. Unless! There was something... I was just thinking about it..." He shrugged awkwardly.

"You're staring," she said, tilting her head as if that would allow her to see inside his brain. That brought a particularly striking and graphic mental image, and he shook it away impatiently. The accusation in her tone made him attempt to look at her at the same time as looking away, and if he was being honest, it didn't go all that well.

"I was just thinking about you," he said directly, with what he hoped was a disarming smile. "What I mean to say is," he continued quickly when she raised a single cool eyebrow at him, "you seem a little preoccupied, my dear. Is everything all right?"

"Everything is fine, Walter." There is was, the reassuring little smile he had come to depend on all too often. He let himself be reassured for a moment, and then –

"But you," he protested, gesturing. "I mean, you don't usually..." Astrid didn't break things as a rule. Something occurred to him about her manner. "Are you humouring me?"

Astrid sighed. "My job is to humour you," she said, completely deadpan. Walter played along happily.

"Is it really?" he asked, with what he hoped was a fair amount of unspoken innuendo, most of it innocent, some of it safe.

"No. Not really." There is was again. She was being very laconic, more than usual. She definitely wasn't as playful. Walter frowned again. "Look, it's been a long day. I'm going on home. Will you be all right?"

"Mmm," he grunted, not wanting to give her an excuse to escape but uncertain how to stop her. People were impossible equations. When she turned away to pick up her bag, he stood and moved to block her way out, avoiding eye contact.

"What. Walter."

"I don't think you should go until you tell me what is bothering you," he said, waggling an authoritative finger, trying very hard to be stern. It was for her own good, and to his surprise, it worked.

Something in her posture softened and yielded, and she sighed as she explained. "I've just been dreaming a lot. It's really nothing."

"I see," he replied, with much more insight than people usually gave him credit for. He knew all too well how awful dreams could be. Most people didn't understand that. Well, then! She was lucky she was with him in the lab. It meant there was help at hand. "Well, let's take a look!" He turned away, excited, happy to have a solution. "I can hook up the dream machine and then we can decide on a course of–"

"No!" Astrid almost shouted, and Walter jumped as if he had been shot. Before he could turn around again, he registered her hand on his arm, so warm and she squeezed him a little. "I mean, that's okay," she said, much calmer. "I don't need any advice. Just some decent sleep."

"All right, if you're sure." It was disappointing; Walter had often wondered what Astrid dreamed about. Still, that didn't mean he couldn't do anything for her. "Well, in that case," he said with relish, going to his desk and pulling out all the drawers while Astrid waited patiently behind him. "Just let me," he continued to babble as he searched. "I know I have some somewhere." In desperation, he looked in the candy drawer, and there they were. Not safe for children, the lab. "Ah! There you are!" He produced a little pill bottle triumphantly and pressed it into her hand. "Take one of these before you go to sleep," he said, nodding happily, then thought to give a warning. "Only one."

They were stood close together, and they caught each others' eye, her small hand still pressed between both of his. The moment stretched out until Astrid pulled away from him and broke the eye contact. It was like losing something precious.

"Are they safe?" she asked, her voice dubious. What reason did she have to doubt him? Walter was quite affronted.

"You'll wake up again," he observed dryly. She should trust him. "Will you take one?"

"I'll think about it," she said, and Walter gave a short snort of a sigh.

"But they're very good," he said, protesting, determined that she should have confidence in his abilities. "I made them up myself."

"I've said I'll think about it, Walter." She said it before he could go into detail about the ingredients. That was that. End of discussion. "Goodnight," she said, and then was off out of the door before he could say anything else.

Slowly, Walter turned away from the closed door where he had pursued her, and pushed shut the drawers of his desk. Something sparkled in the corner of his eye, and he regarded the smashed glass beaker with an odd start. Somehow, she'd forgotten it.

As he got the dustpan and brush, he felt much more lucid and serious. He was alone, and the lab was his again. All the secrets of the universe and some of the next one were his to discover, but they didn't pull at him now. Neither did the current case. The body was still here, of course. Instead he found himself thinking about her, about the warmth of her hand on his arm, the feel of her fingers in his, and, incongruously, St. Claires.

It was a game you didn't admit to playing. Like an hallucination you didn't admit to seeing. Walter sat down heavily on the floor, a piece of glass in his hand. It was so sharp, so fragile. Damaging, yes, but it couldn't begin to do the damage that had been done to their victim. Even after everything he still knew the game, he was sure, but did she? "Proximity," he murmured to himself, staring at the piece of glass in his hand as if it tempted him in some way, but he knew it wasn't the right answer. His mind was not dulled as it was at St. Claires. Drugged, certainly, the way he liked it, but sharper, like the glass. Don't play the game, don't admit it. Damage. He'd done more than enough.

When Peter turned up to give him a lift home several minutes later, the glass was cleared away, but Walter was still troubled. He hoped Astrid made use of the pills he gave her. The team needed her, he needed her. The lab needed her here every day. On the very rare occasions that she wasn't here, everything was in the wrong place all the time, even when it was in the same place. Everything was in the way of everything else without Astrid to help. Without Astrid, all of them were just a collection of troubled and tortured souls, and it pained him to imagine her becoming a part of that.

"Well," Peter announced. "Are you going to ask me?"

Walter picked up the few things he was taking back home with him, still thinking. "Ask you about what?" he said mechanically.

"The crime scene, Walter," Peter reminded him patiently, ignoring his rudeness as always. Walter perked up, remembering that he and Olivia had been back to look for traces of anything that might lead to a solution for the bloodless stabbing.

"Oh. Well?" Walter asked, his thoughts of Astrid banished for a while in his sudden interest, because Peter had that look, which usually meant good news.

"Traces of blood under UV," Peter confirmed, almost bouncing on the spot. Walter smiled.

"And?" he demanded, feeling a little bouncy himself.

Peter's eyes twinkled. "We got some," he said, producing a tube with a pinkish cotton bud inside. Instantly, Walter's mind began to whirr. If his theory was correct, the blood was left when the weapon had gone through the body into the floor, and there might be some clue as to what it was. The applications for such a substance were unimaginable, particularly in medicine. Why, in surgery alone, a knife like the murder weapon would revolutionise…

"Walter…?" Peter said, breaking into his thoughts, and Walter started. Only then did he realise he hadn't been speaking aloud. Well, he wasn't going to bother going through it all again.

"I must test it," he said in excitement, grasping for the tube, but Peter held it out of his reach.

"Tomorrow," Peter said, accepting no argument. "Olivia's orders."

To be continued...


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **And here you have the next chapter – enjoy!

Chapter Three

The next day began with disappointment, and after all the time he'd spent awake too, annoying Peter, waiting for the dawn and for the revelations he expected the blood sample to bring. But he and Asterisk had been over and over it since they were left to themselves, and the results were conclusive. It was just blood – the victim's to be precise. Even then Walter continued to check, certain that perhaps they'd missed something, peering into the electron microscope, refusing to give up. Blood under the electron microscope had the look of candy, perhaps cherry menthol tablets. As if the thought had conjured them, the recollection of their taste spread over his tongue. Then, beside him, Astrid sighed.

It was like waking up, only the clarity of the search for some abnormality in the blood sample deserted him, leaving him floundering in the observable world. Walter turned away from the familiar security of his clipboard and looked at his assistant. Without her, he would be lost. If Peter was his go-between, she was surely his anchor to the world, and the same disappointment as he felt shone in her eyes. He wondered if she knew what those cherry sweets were, but there was something else too. He tried hard to remember, then he had it.

"You haven't slept." It was an announcement full of reproach.

"Not a whole lot, no." She drew in a deep breath and held it for a second, her brows drawing together. She really was very beautiful. "How can you tell?"

Reaching out to cup her face with one hand, Walter brushed a thumb on the skin below one of her eyes. It was a full, dark circle. The pills he had given her would have ensured a sound sleep, and he suddenly felt sad, because he liked Astro. Her skin was warm and soft under his touch. "You didn't trust me." She dropped her gaze and shook her head a little, shaking his hand away in the process, her hair tickling against his palm. And after all, why should she trust him? He had spent the last seventeen years in a mental institution.

"Of course I do, Walter."

"Really?" He didn't believe her, and it was a strange thing, but he couldn't recall ever hearing her lie before. Walter turned away, pretending to search for something, anything, prepared now to let the matter drop. For all of his capabilities in the sciences, his confidence was fragile when it came to other people and this revelation was beginning to signal a spiral of despair which would make this one of his bad days. He was pleasantly surprised when Astrid followed him, poking her head around into his line of sight, so close he could smell her perfume, understated but pleasant nevertheless. It was impossible to be upset with her.

"Really," she said, sincerity in every line of her face. Walter smiled at her, quite unable to help it, and felt a sudden rush of vivid, misplaced enthusiasm.

"Well, there's not much else to do today, given the disappointment. You know I sleep here sometimes, in the back. You could take an hour or two off." He wasn't aware of making the suggestion until he'd done it, and by then it was too late to take it back.

"I think that –"

Walter was so prepared for her refusal that he continued as if she hadn't begun to speak. "It's quite all right. You don't need to humour me. In fact, you probably shouldn't –"

"I _am_ really tired," Astrid said, cutting him off before he could start babbling. She reached beneath her lab coat and took out the bottle of pills he'd given her the night before. They exchanged conspiratorial glances.

"If I do, will you promise not to do anything while I'm asleep?" she asked. Walter held his breath, a number of possibilities racing through his head, none of which she would consent to, he was quite sure. He held up his hands in a gesture of innocence.

"I know you, Walter," she said, clearly warning him, and he suddenly felt quite mischievous, unable to contain the smirk that twitched his lips upwards, or the knowing chuckle.

"Well, yes, I suppose you do," he admitted without a bit of resentment. He became serious for a moment and laid a hand over his heart. He _had _changed. "I promise."

"Okay..." She wandered off to get a bottle of water, and Walter returned to the electron microscope happily, willing to go through the results another couple of times on his own. She trusted him. His perception narrowed and honed to a precise beam of concentration, which was abruptly ruined by the sound of pills being shaken out of a bottle. He frowned, and then, a few moments or minutes later his concentration was broken again.

"Whoo..." Astrid sounded a little high. It didn't really suit her, and that in itself was quite surprising.

"What's in these, Walter?" He smiled, happy with the compliment.

"Oh... my own blend of a few selected favourites," he said without looking up. "Codeine, phenobarbital, chlordiazepoxide and a little sodium theopenthal." He raised his eyes to see the effect on her. "Nice, isn't it?"

"Nice. Mmm... The truth drug?" She looked and sounded a little worried, still on her feet but swaying like some kind of strange dancer.

"It's not really a truth drug," Walter chided her as he looked down at his work again, "it just decreases your inhibitions so that you don't lie. I included it for its anaesthetic properties."

"S'really, really... relaxing. Walter? I think I'm going to go and sleep in your bed now."

"All right, Aspic. I'll wake you later."

"Do you know, I've been dreaming about being in your bed for weeks..." Walter looked up quickly to see Astrid covering her mouth with one hand, eyes wide with shock.

"You don't say," he commented cheerfully, mildly pleased, mostly with himself. "Have you really?"

"Ha!" she said back, a little too loudly, then retreated quickly behind the door, leaving him alone to work. It was at least an hour before the full implication of her statement sunk in, and by then it was too late to ask her about it.

* * *

><p>It must have been some time later, since he had abandoned the blood sample and was involved in investigating something else entirely, when Peter wandered into the lab and disturbed him. "Ah!" Walter exclaimed, feeling suddenly very guilty. "Peter!"<p>

"Walter," he greeted, smiling slightly, then nodded at Astrid. "What is Astrid doing in your arms?" Walter looked down as if he had forgotten he was carrying her. He drew in a deep breath to explain.

"Well," he began. "You're not going to believe this, Peter, but she fell asleep!"

Peter raised his eyebrows, and his eyes twinkled. "I see. Did you help her?"

"Yes, but she wanted me to," Walter protested, and then began to feel put upon. Why all the questions? Anyone could see he was merely concerned. "She's been having trouble resting. I was just going to see if there was some kind of cause so that I could help." Walter nodded over to the dream machine. Peter shook his head in warning.

"She'd never forgive you. Put her back to bed, Walter." Grumbling about being disturbed, Walter did just that, settling his sleeping assistant before coming back into the main area of the lab where Peter was waiting for him.

"What is this?" he asked immediately. "What is going on?" There were two new gurneys being wheeled into the lab, each one with a body covered by a pristine white sheet. "More victims?" There was a relish to the way he said it that made the nameless junior FBI agents stare at him, he knew that, and didn't care.

"Well, these are two heart attack victims. Only, when they came to do an autopsy, there was a little bit more to it than that," Peter explained as Walter lifted one of the sheets.

Grimacing in distaste, he let the sheet drop. "You mean they've already been poked and prodded by an amateur? No, no, no, Peter! All the evidence will have been lost!"

"To be fair, Walter, there wasn't any evidence on the first body. Why do you think these will be different?"

Walter huffed. "Sometimes, son, the similarity _is_ the evidence. Agent Dunham could tell you that. But now?" He threw his hands up in a futile gesture. "They've already been opened!"

Peter did a double take. "They aren't Christmas presents, Walter."

"No, I should think not. At Christmas I want sherbet _powder_ with a stick of liquorice. Wonderful fountains of fizzy sugar..." he said as he peered under the other sheet. "Well, well..." Walter looked up, and his searching eyes found Olivia. "Ah, there you are, Agent Dunham! Three bodies, all in their fifties, all killed in a similar manner. I take it you know what this means?"

Olivia gave a short nod, while Peter was confused, looking from one to the other. "I don't get it. What?" Because Astrid was otherwise engaged, Walter began gathering a trolley of instruments together. He actually managed quite a competent job.

"We have a serial killer, Peter! Our first!" He clapped his hands and wheeled his instruments around to the first of the two corpses. "Now _that_ is a fine Christmas present."

Almost as if she had heard the earlier conversation, Olivia waited for Walter to look up again. "I'm going to see if I can find any heart attacks that haven't been autopsied, before they're buried or cremated. There may be a lot more victims out there."

"Yes, yes, a marvellous idea," Walter said hastily, then paused, thinking. "But wait... I have something I think might help you. Whistling a jolly little tune, he began searching through drawers of equipment and old projects. "Ah-ha! Here it is!" he said, excited, pulling out something that looked like mobile bar code scanner. He'd forgotten all about this little thing, and it was only because it would come in handy now that he had remembered it. For a moment, he frowned, and looked at all the nameless things in the drawers that were open. What were they? What secrets were here, just waiting to be rediscovered and...?

"What's that?" Peter asked, breaking his train of thought and bringing him back to their current dilemma: how to find victims.

"Oh! Yes. Hold up your hand, Peter," Walter instructed, and then waited to be obeyed. With a little difficulty, he pulled out a loop of tightly coiled copper from the device and turned it on, passing it over Peter's outstretched hand. It clicked like a Geiger Counter, and when he got to the wrist, he chuckled. "You know," he confided, looking around at Agent Dunham, "it still reminds me of one of those games where you have to be careful not to touch the wire."

Peter closed his eyes, and then opened them, remaining perfectly still. "I take it that it's not going to buzz if you touch me?" he asked, swallowing, staring helplessly at Olivia.

"It's a quantum super-conductive magnet, son. Probably best not to think about it!" Walter said with a kind of careless cheer that had become familiar to them all, and a slight sheen of sweat broke out on Peter's head. "There. That should do it." Carefully, Walter drew the loop of wire back over Peter's fingers, and then switched off the device, plugging it into a nearby terminal by way of a strange data connection that looked like it was once a simple coaxial cable.

On the screen, an image came up of a skeletal hand and wrist, with muscles and tendons outlined in grey. "It still works," Walter said with a satisfied clap, "after all this time."

"Wait," Peter said, clearly astounded, arms still protectively folded. "Are you telling me that back in the seventies, you invented a _hand-held_ MRI scanner?"

Walter sneered at the device, then at himself, and waved a hand as if brushing the compliment away. "I wanted to get rid of the need for the encircling wire. I could only shrink it, using quantum particles. The technology is exactly the same. It's one of my failures, I'm afraid, but it should do for our purposes here."

Peter and Olivia shared a look. "It's a failure," Peter told her, and Olivia shrugged, an amused smile on her lips.

"Well, I'll take it," Olivia said, and listened carefully as Walter instructed her in detail on use of the device, and the potential devastating effects if the wire came into contact with the subject. Peter listened too.

"Walter, you almost vaporised me?!" he exclaimed when he heard that part, and Walter became exasperated.

"I didn't do any such thing. You're still _here_, aren't you? What is wrong with that?"

"Happily, nothing!" Peter shouted, and yet he didn't look happy at all. Walter sighed.

"Then what are we talking about, son? I mean, do you want me to try it again?" Walter demanded, satisfied to have won the argument, whatever it was, when Peter threw up his hands and stalked out of the lab. Olivia gave him a tight smile and went after him, leaving him alone again.

Over the next half hour, Walter made a cursory examination of the bodies, then downed his tools, and went into the back to wait for Astrid to wake up, still shaking his head at Peter's behaviour.

When she eventually opened her eyes he was watching, and he continued watching while she blinked at him, her elbows pointing out as she stretched. "Walter," she said, clearly disconcerted. "Were you watching me sleep?"

"Yes. Do you feel any better, my dear?" Something had happened that afternoon, something new and different, and it left him feeling much more present, which probably ruled out LSD as the cause.

"Yes." Her voice was filled with satisfied, sleepy warmth, but he saw the terrified suspicion as soon as she felt it, and she sat up on the bed. "Why? What did you do?"

"Nothing!" Walter replied, hands held up in a gesture of peace until she relaxed again. "Peter came back."

Astrid's eyes narrowed. "And he stopped you from...?"

"Nothing!" At that Walter stood up and waved his arms around. "Why must I be subject to these endless accusations?" Really! He turned away to the door.

"I'm sorry, Walter," she said, her voice soft and warm again. "I'm always just really cranky when I wake up."

"Although, if I was going to do anything," he said as an aside, "I would have peeked at your dreams."

"And...?" Astrid questioned. Walter turned around slowly. "Did you?"

"No." He wasn't aware of the word until it left his lips, but that was all right. It was the only answer he could give. The world paused for a beat, and then carried on. "I'll leave you to gather yourself, Ashtar, but hurry! We have new autopsies to complete!"

"What fun!" she replied laconically. He walked out of the door, and when Astrid rejoined him, she seemed much more refreshed.

* * *

><p>After the long day was over, and Peter had left him in the lab at his own request, Walter busied himself with a couple of pet projects for an hour or so. When he was sure he was alone, when he knew that Peter wasn't coming back, he turned off the lights, went and set up the small projector screen, inserted a video cassette into the machine, and sat down in silence to watch. Walter didn't smile. He just sat with his head in his hands, and watched and listened.<p>

On the screen, Astrid was deeply asleep. Her eyes were twitching under their lids in the close up, and her head was capped by the dream machines many strange sensors and wires. It was a tool that produced a separate hypnogogic state in the consciousness of a subject so that dreams could be related while they were in progress. The picture suddenly jerked as he adjusted the camera angle, and for a moment his own giant hand passed over the screen like an ominous shadow.

"You're dreaming. What can you see?" His own voice, so deep and matter-of-fact. Actually, he didn't sound insane at all.

"You," dreaming-Aster replied. Then, as if in realisation: "We're in the lab."

"And what are we doing there?"

Suddenly she giggled, and even now, in perfect analogue that didn't compare at all to reality, it was one of the most wonderful sounds he'd ever heard. "You're so excited. You've discovered something important."

"What is it?" Although he couldn't see his own image, he could hear the smile in his voice.

"The perfect recipe for lemon meringue pie," she said.

"That would be wonderful. I wonder, my dear, can you see the ingredient list?"

Walter sat forward in his chair, the rest of the lab in darkness except for this immortalised image of his beautiful assistant, shivering in the examination chair. He held his breath, and then it happened again, and it was real, not imagined. Astrid moaned.

"What is happening now?" His own words sounded so measured, so calm, and yet how could he have known really?

"Do that again," she demanded, a little hitch in her breath coming shortly after. "Oh, Walter..."

And then, the words he shouldn't have said, the question he shouldn't have asked because it wasn't fair. She would answer, because she was utterly defenceless, both in psychological terms and also because of the drug he had given her. Yet here he was doing it again. "Describe what I am doing." And over the next half hour or so she did describe it, in honest and unscrupulous detail.

Walter listened in the dark to that dream, watching every changing expression on her face, the way her lips glistened in the light, and he longed to touch her. But most of all he longed to take it back. That question, and all the questions that followed, because she was so suggestible and he knew he had almost certainly made her experience his own dream. It was an invasion, and he hadn't changed. Not at all.

Yet, when it was over, he watched again, and again. And again. Walter found it impossible to look away, to give up. She was so... for those moments, she was his, and a part of him didn't care if he _had_ stolen her secret.

.

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To be continued...

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	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

The next day, rather unsurprisingly, Walter was much more tired than usual. Mercifully, life in the lab began to establish something of a mundane routine. They were left to their own devices until the afternoon, at which point more victims were brought in, and the previous days' bodies were taken away to make space. Each corpse was tagged, autopsied, analysed and studied in exactly the same way, and exactly the same information was gleaned from each of them, which was precisely nothing.

This didn't discourage Walter as it might someone else. His enquiring mind was only spurred on by it, even if he did bestow longing looks in the vague direction of the video-cassette recorder every now and again. Several times he made brilliant leaps of deduction which he then set out to prove, coming to a dead end every time.

Yet eventually, after his sixteenth theory on the manufacture of a blade of atomic thickness was proved impossible, and after he'd looked down one too many microscopes, only for his restless mind to see a remembered image of Astrid confessing her desires, he growled in frustration. His outburst, subdued as it was, did not go unnoticed.

"What's wrong?" She was always so gentle, so caring, and now it infuriated him further, knowing what he knew about her dreams. He could barely look at her without wondering if her lips tasted as wet and sweet as they looked, without wondering how many things he knew to do that could make her moan the way she –

Walter swept everything from his desk, enraged with himself, causing Astrid to jump back a step, startled, and that just made him feel worse.

"Nothing!" he cried out. Every corner his mind turned now, it was there waiting for him. Her dreams, they were his dreams too. This should be easy, and somehow it wasn't. Somehow it was all wrong and irrational. He threw his hands up in a dramatic fashion. "Everything!"

He refused to look at her, because sometimes when he did, no matter what she said, he only heard those confessions he'd stolen when she wasn't aware of it. The way her eyelashes brushed the top of her cheeks when she blinked was ruining what little concentration he had left, and he didn't deserve her concern for that. But, true to form, a small and insistent finger turned his head and he was suddenly lost in her eyes. "Walter?" she said, obviously worried, but he couldn't smile at her this time. Not now.

Just one momentary lapse of judgement, and arrogance. He thought it had been drummed out of him, but now he knew that it lie in wait to ruin things because that is what he was – what he had always been – a thief. To avoid her seeing the truth in him he closed his eyes to hide, but that didn't help either, since her image seemed to have been burned into his retinas.

"Walter, I want –"

"I know what you want," he blurted at the first excuse and opportunity to confess, quite unable to keep it in. Astrid looked slightly doubtful.

"You do?"

He nodded, and then, as if they were of one mind, both of them looked at the dream machine. Walter saw realisation dawn in her eyes. He'd never felt so wretched as he did when she looked back at him. The betrayal shone in her as she folded her arms and drew in a deep breath of shock.

"You did, didn't you?" she asked, toneless, and his heart flopped lazily in dread. Truth time. Walter swallowed.

"Yes," he admitted, and Astrid closed her eyes for a second. "But nothing else, I swear." That didn't seem to make things better. "I didn't do anything to – with – you." That sentence definitely made it worse, and Walter looked away because he couldn't bear the way she was looking at him now.

For a long minute, there was silence, and Walter felt like something Astrid was looking at through a microscope. He tried again. "I'm sorry. I just couldn't stop myself. I wanted to know, to help..." He reached out to grasp her hands and she backed away a couple of steps... quickly.

"Don't touch me, Walter," she said, and his arms dropped to his sides. Then, clearly choosing her words carefully: "I'm very angry with you."

Walter couldn't do anything except look at the floor. It was very dusty under the desk. "Yes."

"Did you record it?" she asked, and Walter felt a muscle twitch in his cheek, but remained obstinately looking at the floor. He felt about a foot tall.

"Yes."

When she didn't say anything else, Walter wrung his hands together in a nervous gesture. She was – had been – good for him, and it occurred to him in a disturbing burst of mental clarity that a part of him might have pushed her away on purpose. He took a deep breath. "I accept full responsibility for my actions, Accio. And I understand if you decide that you don't want to work here –"

"How many times?" For a second or two, he didn't understand the question. Her clipped tones made him feel panicky and uncertain.

"Excuse me?" he said helplessly. He looked up, but she was still glaring at him, so he looked at Gene instead.

"How many times have you watched it?" she demanded. Oh.

"I, um, think I, may have lost count," Walter admitted, and looked at her again, but it didn't make him feel any better. Without even blinking, Astrid held out her hand. Walter was at a complete loss.

"What...?" Then he understood what she wanted. "Oh! I-I see! Y-yes, of course!" he stammered. "Just, um, let me see where I..." Astrid only moved to continue facing him as he bumbled around the lab looking into video cassette boxes as if his life might depend on it. "No... Not that one. Not that one, either."

"The machine, Walter!" He jumped as if she'd shot him, and obeyed the instruction.

"Ah... yes, quite right. That's where it is." He pressed the eject button, and they both knew what it meant. He'd been watching. "In the... machine." He shot her a humourless smile, then, at last, he put the videotape into Astrid's hand. "Sorry." She looked at it blankly.

"Thank you." Walter waited while she went to put the tape into her bag, and then watched as she walked back over to the autopsy table where she had been gathering tissue samples without another word or glance in his direction.

"What now?" he asked, simultaneously wishing that she would stay, and hoping that she would go. What had he done?

"Now?" she repeated without looking at him. She pulled on some surgical gloves, and the snapping sound was no longer familiar – instead it sounded angry. "Now, we get on with our work."

* * *

><p>"What do the results mean, Walter?" He frowned, but the train of thought from a moment ago had derailed several hundred kilometres before the station. It was gone, but it had been important. Something about the concentration of plasma, perhaps... was it? He breathed in and the air was flavoured with her perfume – freesia, violet and amber. Why amber? A prescient shiver raced across his brain, and he gave up.<p>

"I don't know!" he cried out, sinking his head onto his arms on the desk. "I can't concentrate!"

"What can I do?" she asked, ever ready to be helpful, matter of fact because it was important. Walter looked at her, and it just was not possible to work like this. He was human, and his mind followed his body eventually, just as it did for everyone else on the planet.

"Just..." he began, trying not to sound angry, "can you just..." He breathed. "Move away."

Astrid raised a cool eyebrow at him. He waved a hand, and gave her as pleading and heartfelt a look as he could muster. "Go over there."

Astrid looked behind her, and moved into the other part of the lab, turning back around to face him, clearly waiting for him to voice the thought that would cause all the white-shrouded autopsy tables that surrounded her to make sense.

"Back a few more steps," Walter suggested innocently, and she obeyed little by little while he continued waving his hand. The further away she got, the more relieved he felt.

"A bit... more."

Astrid sneaked a look behind her, and then refused to move any further, standing quite still and defiantly folding her arms. "You want me on the other side of the door?" she asked in disbelief.

"Preferably," he admitted.

"That isn't going to work, Walter." To his chagrin she walked back to the desk again, standing before him. Walter looked up, helpless, aware that his body was reacting to her nearness in a way that could only be embarrassing to them both, and he loathed it.

"Well, I don't know what else to do!" he snapped.

"I didn't cause this," she prodded.

Like he needed the reminder. Guilt didn't make it go away though, and Walter felt more thoroughly desolate than at any time since he had left St. Clare's. "I know."

After some of the longest moments of his life, even those artificially extended by hallucinogenics, Walter jumped when Astrid took hold of his hands and pulled on them to get him to stand up, which he did. Without speaking, she continued to hold onto one of his hands, leading him to the back room.

"What? Where are we...?" His voice trailed off uselessly as they walked into the darkened room. The door was half open, leaving just enough light to see by as Astrid pulled apart his lab coat, the press studs making little popping noises that sounded madly like a miniature round of applause.

"What are you doing?" Walter asked, not certain how to proceed with so little to go on. But then her hands were skimming down his shirt-covered chest, closer to the problem, until she got to his belt buckle which she worked on loosening. In response, Walter covered her hands with his own to still them.

"Hands off, Walter."

Her tone was so cold, and his hands dropped automatically as if someone had cut the strings. "But I... I m-mean," he babbled, his voice getting quieter and quieter as she undid the buttons of his fly. "I don't want you to..."

The moment she touched him, his erection leapt into her grip, and he breathed in deeply, staring down at her. At last she looked up at him, and her eyes glittered. She was angry. Walter gibbered.

"Y-you watched, didn't you?" She didn't answer, just began a slow mechanical up down motion with her hand that made his body tremble while he remembered all the things that were on that videotape, all the questions he had asked, all the answers she had given. And he imagined Astrid watching that videotape, all alone.

"I'm so, so sorry, Astro." Still no reply, and now she even looked away from him while she worked that hand on him, preferring instead to stare out of the half-open door as if longing to be on the other side of it.

Truth be told, Walter thought he would rather be on the other side of it too. His body was reacting to Astrid's touch, but his mind was miserable, and he felt tears stinging his eyes, running down his cheeks as she squeezed and coaxed him. It was the most impersonal touch he had ever known, and he had known orderlies.

"Please," he begged eventually, but she didn't relent until he came undone to her touch, spilling all over the back of her hand with a helpless sob. It didn't take much. And while it was done to him, Walter didn't dare to move or stop her for fear that he would stumble into something worse. This was an adult thing, this game, and he had long ago forgotten how to play it.

When it was over, and he was barely able to keep standing, Astrid wiped her hand on a paper handkerchief from her lab coat and threw the used tissue on his day bed. At last she looked at him, and she must have seen his tears.

"Better?" There was a catch in her voice that belied her seeming carelessness.

Slowly, Walter shook his head, feeling utterly chastised. "No."

"Good."

She left him without another word, leaving the door wide open behind her while Walter struggled to make himself presentable again. When he looked up, his gaze fell upon the bed, where a familiar figure sat lounging, smirking at him. It was the other him. The one from St. Clare's. The hallucination.

_Well, hello, Walter._

"No. Oh, no," he babbled. "Do you see...?" he said to her, pointing, but she was long gone, and he heard quiet tinkling noises from the main body of the lab as she gathered up beakers and tubes and flasks.

_I think she's furious with us. What do you think?_

As the vision spoke, Walter turned to look out of the door, watching Astrid as she cleaned the day's equipment. "I think you may be right."

_I think you've hurt her._

"No." He denied it, but it was the truth. He had hurt her, by stealing her privacy.

_Yes._

"It wasn't intentional," Walter argued, and that was true too. "Leave me alone."

There was no answer except for a laugh that crawled up his spine and made him shiver. That imaginary version of himself wasn't going anywhere.

* * *

><p>The next morning, a subdued Walter stalked into the laboratory, followed immediately by Peter. Without a word he made his way to the desk and sat down heavily in his chair, searching among his private pharmacy for an anti-psychotic that he hadn't tried yet. Just because Walter Two couldn't be seen, it didn't mean he wasn't around.<p>

Finding what he was looking for, he surreptitiously eavesdropped on Peter and Asher while he dry swallowed a couple of the tablets. They never thought to talk quietly enough. They just went back to acting as if he wasn't there whenever he wasn't doing so well.

"Astrid. Was Walter all right yesterday, in the lab?"

"Same old Walter. Why?"

"He's had a bad night. He's almost like he was when we first got him out. I don't know – maybe it's this case. Still no headway?"

"Nothing."

He tuned them out deliberately and leaned back in his chair with his eyes closed, but he was aware nevertheless when she walked over to the desk. Peter was gone then. When she took his hand he jumped, and his eyes flew open as he began shaking his head.

"Walter," she said, and her voice was like the voice of God. Merciless and unyielding. Walter shrank in the chair, pulling his hand away.

"No. Please. Not again." He didn't know how to escape, and all the while that other Walter lounged on a corner of the desk, sniggering at him. "No more punishment."

"Walter..." she said again, and he quite sure he whimpered. "Walter!" That stopped him, and he dared to look at her, becoming present for just a second as she stared at him.

"I'm so sorry," he said again, willing her to hear it.

"I know. I forgive you. I'm sorry too, Walter. I was very cruel. I was just so angry with you, and I really do like this assignment." The sentences came so quickly on top of each other it took him several moments to catch on, and when he did, he smiled. The relief was so great he took her hands and kissed them impulsively.

"I like working here with you," she continued. "I don't want to ruin this." Walter nodded. It didn't matter, as long as things could be the same as they were before... before. But they couldn't, he realised, because he'd always know. Unless he could make himself forget. There were so many things he'd forgotten. It couldn't be that difficult.

"I understand," he said quickly, realising that he still held her hands in his. He let her go.

"No," she said, and then sighed. "You don't."

The first touch of her lips on his could have cured all the insanity of the world. It was real, and warm, and she wasn't tentative or shy, but confident and certain. It passed through her and into him. Walter stood without ever breaking the kiss, pulling her into his arms naturally while she stood on tiptoe to reach him.

There were no dreams like this, no flashbacks. This was inevitable, and he'd known it before he saw her dreams. He knew it that night when she told him she couldn't sleep. They shared so much, knew each other so well by now they could almost finish each others' sentences. Walter felt a surge of love in him that almost made him stumble, and he drew back, opening his eyes so as not to miss the sight of her.

Those long eyelashes fluttered and she gazed at him from under them. This first kiss was the complete antithesis of what happened between them the day before. Walter felt strong and confident instead of weak and helpless. Unable to resist, he checked the corner of the desk for Walter Two, and the restoration was complete.

"Astro," he said in wonder.

"Astrid."

"He's gone."

"Who?" She really did look adorable when she was puzzled, and Walter chuckled.

"It doesn't matter," he said, then kissed her again, just to check that it was really true. It was.

"We shouldn't do this," Astrid said, but she led the way to the back room as if she couldn't wait. Walter followed only a little more slowly. She was full of surprises, and her passion was stunning to behold.

"Indeed," Walter noted as she pressed against him, her lips seeking his and her hands pulling him closer for the kiss. When it was over, Walter tilted his head. "Would you like some drugs to help you relax?"

The new Astrid was suddenly replaced by the not-quite-pleased version that she teased him with. Walter nodded. "No, no. You're quite right, probably better not."

To make up for the suggestion he gathered her slight form into his arms so that he lifted her from the floor, nuzzled her right ear lightly with his nose and then placed several light kisses in a line from just behind her ear to her neck.

"That feels so nice," she sighed. Walter nodded, absently noting how her hair felt against his cheek. Her hair held a sweet fragrance of coconut and almond oil. It reminded him of something, but he couldn't recall what. It felt good.

"Would you like some drugs to heighten the sensations?" he enquired.

"No drugs, Walter," she replied, a little more sharply. He only smiled. She wasn't really angry.

"Have you ever been with an older man?"

"No." Setting her down on her feet again, he lingered over her, breathing warm onto her crown, then kissing her brow before tilting her head back to concentrate on her throat. "Oh, Walter," she breathed, and he could feel the vibration of her voice in his lips.

"I see. That's wonderful. Have you ever participated in tantric sex, Agent Farwood?"

"Farnsworth," she corrected automatically, eyes closed as Walter looked down at her as if she was dessert. "And no, I haven't."

"Excellent. I can teach you," he said, reaching behind them to lock the door and dim the light. "I do pride myself on being something of an expert. We have several hours, all to ourselves..."

.

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**Author's Note:**

I had to think for a long time before posting this here, but as I wasn't particularly graphic, I believe that this chapter is fine. The next chapter or two, however, will fall well beyond an M rating, therefore updates will only appear on other fanfiction sites such a or adult fan fiction. Thank you.


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